Chapter 5
William
“Hey, Twist, this is the life, isn’t it,” I say, my voice as quiet as a mouse.
I’m curled up in the most perfect little nook on the third floor of the old gothic library, my back pressed snug against the warm old radiator pipe that runs along the wall.
The heat seeps through my oversized cream sweater, the one with the slightly frayed cuffs that I’ve had since undergrad, and it makes me feel like I’m wrapped in a cozy hug.
Twist is tucked securely under my left arm, his soft otter fur brushing my cheek every time I shift. The heavy interlibrary loan book rests open on my lap, its pages smelling like aged paper and secrets.
I’m completely lost in it.
And that’s just how I like it.
Victorian writers and their gothic worlds have me hooked. The repressed desires, the shadows lurking behind every corner, the way the heroines fight for air in corseted lives… it feels so alive tonight.
Any thought of heading home for an early night disappeared about two hours ago.
The library lights are low and golden, the building mostly quiet except for the occasional soft footsteps or page turn.
This is my happy place.
Safe.
Predictable.
And it’s exactly what I need after days of Kane invading my thoughts like an uninvited storm.
I adjust Twist a little higher and turn another page, smiling at a particularly delicious passage about hidden longings.
My legs are tucked under me on the worn leather chair, fuzzy socks peeking out from my jeans.
The radiator warmth, the weight of the book, Twist’s steady presence, it’s all so perfect I could stay here until closing.
Then a shadow falls over the page.
A tall, broad shadow.
My heart slams against my ribs. I jerk my head up, mouth already opening to scream—
“Aaaa—”
A large hand covers my mouth, firm but not painful. Dark eyes lock onto mine.
It’s Kane. Crouched down right beside my chair, his expensive suit jacket brushing my knee, that neat black beard and silver-threaded hair unmistakable even in the low light.
“Relax, William,” Kane murmurs, voice low and gravelly, that faint Russian accent wrapping around the words like smoke. “I’m not here to hurt you. Breathe.”
My eyes are wide. Panic surges for half a second: scream, run, call for help.
But something in his steady gaze holds me. Kane doesn’t look wild or dangerous right now. Just… intense. In control.
I give a tiny nod.
Kane removes his hand slowly, watching me the whole time.
I suck in a shaky breath. “Are you stalking me?”
Kane’s lips twitch. Then he laughs…low, rich, genuinely amused. The sound vibrates through me in ways I don’t want to examine right now.
“Stalking?” he asks, more than a hint of mockery in his voice.
Irritation flares hot in my chest. “It’s not funny,” I whisper-hiss, clutching Twist tighter like a shield. “I’m trying to study and you just appear out of nowhere like some… some damn ghost!”
Kane’s dark eyes sparkle with something dangerously close to delight. “Ghost. I like that.” He stays crouched, perfectly balanced, one powerful forearm resting on his thigh. “I wasn’t stalking you. I came in for a book. Saw you. Decided fate was being less subtle than usual.”
I narrow my eyes. My cheeks feel warm. My special places tingles and my cock quickly begin to twitch and grow.
Fuck.
Kane tilts his head. “You’ve been here for hours. You need a break. Come with me. There’s a late-night café across the street. Coffee for you. Hot milk for the otter, if he behaves.”
I can’t help but smile as Kane nods at Twist, and my blush explodes across my face like wildfire. He knows. He understands what a stuffie means in a place like this, in the hands of a boy like me. The casual way he offers it makes my stomach flip.
“I… I shouldn’t,” I stammer, even as my brain screams that this is a terrible, dangerous, incredibly tempting idea.
“You should,” he says simply. “One coffee. Then you can come back to your books and pretend I don’t exist.”
Despite every instinct yelling bad idea, bad idea, run back to your blanket fort, I find myself nodding.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But only because I need caffeine if I’m going to finish this chapter tonight.”
Kane’s smile is slow and satisfied. He offers his hand. I take it—his palm is warm, calloused, impossibly strong—and he helps me up like I weigh nothing.
I slip Twist into my backpack, grab my book, and follow him out of the library on slightly wobbly legs.
The night air is cooler now. And I do need to cool down, that’s for sure.
The café across the street is one of those quiet 24-hour places with warm lighting and worn booths. We slide into one near the back.
I order a large latte. Kane orders black coffee and, without missing a beat, asks the server for a small mug of warm milk “for the boy’s companion.”
My face burns again.
I can’t figure out if Kane is being genuinely playful about Twist or is taunting me with it…
Once the drinks arrive, I wrap my hands around the mug and try to steady myself.
“Do you feel out of place here?” I ask, glancing around at the scattering of students and academics hunched over laptops. “Surrounded by all these bookish types?”
Kane leans back, looking ridiculously at ease in his dark suit.
“What makes you think I’m not a visiting lecturer?” Kane asks with a sly smile. “Or an expert in the field?”
I stare at him. Then I laugh—short, surprised, real.
“Okay, you’ve got a sense of humor,” I snort. “I’ll give you that.”
Kane smiles and we relax a little. We talk. Not about anything heavy at first. The book I’m reading. The weather. How the city never really sleeps. But the air between us thickens with every exchanged glance.
I keep stealing looks at his hands: strong, veined, resting on the table like they could control anything they touched.
I imagine them wrapping around my throat, gentle but firm.
I think of them sliding over my bare skin…
crashing down hard on my bare bottom, turning it pink and hot while he tells me I’m a good boy for taking it.
Heat pools low in my belly. I shift in my seat and do my best to hide the tent in my pants.
Kane’s eyes darken like he can read every filthy thought. “Sweet boys shouldn’t have such naughty thoughts in public, William.”
I nearly choke on my latte.
“How… how did you know?” My voice is a squeak. “Was it that obvious?”
Kane just smiles, slow and knowing. That Daddy smile. The one that says he sees me… all of me.
I can’t do this. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I set my mug down with a clatter.
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” I say, a slight tremble in my voice. “Of any kind. Right now. Or… ever, probably. I have my studies, my work, my—” I gesture vaguely at my backpack where Twist sits. “I can’t.”
Kane doesn’t look surprised. “Who said anything about a relationship?”
The words hang between us, heavy with promise and danger. My pulse thunders in my ears. I stand up abruptly.
“I should go,” I say, my heart racing.
He doesn’t move. “I haven’t dismissed you yet.”
The words hit me like a spark to dry tinder. Something deep inside me—my Little side—reacts instantly, even as my independent brain rebels.
“Do what you have to do,” I say, voice shaky but defiant. “But I’m getting out of here and that’s just that.”
I grab my bag and walk out.
The night air slaps my heated cheeks. I’ve made it maybe ten steps when a firm hand closes around my upper arm… not bruising, but impossible to escape.
Kane marches me back across the street, straight into the library.
I’m too stunned, too turned on, too everything to protest properly.
Kane guides me deep into the reference section, past rows of towering shelves until we’re in a quiet, shadowed corner where no one ever goes at this hour. The smell of old books is thick. My breathing is ragged.
Without a word, Kane turns me to face a sturdy oak table, bends me over it, and yanks my jeans and briefs down in one quick motion.
Cool air hits my bare skin. I gasp.
Then his hand comes down.
Smack.
Hard. Precise. The sound echoes softly in the empty stacks. Heat blooms across my right cheek.
“Owwww,” I whimper.
“Now you understand,” Kane growls, his one hand on the small of my back as my sweater rides up. “Now you will learn another kind of lesson.”
Smack. Smack. Smack.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but little whimpers escape anyway. Each strike is measured, controlled, sending jolts of stinging pleasure-pain straight between my legs as my now rock-hard cock aches with desire.
My bottom grows hotter, tighter, throbbing under his palm.
Tears prick my eyes. Not from hurt, but from the overwhelming release of tension I didn’t even know I was carrying.
“Oweeee,” I squeal, grabbing a nearby book and stuffing it between my mouth so I can bite down on it.
“Smart boy,” Kane says, landing another spank and then another in quick succession. “Smart boy with a bright red ass.”
Kane spanks me until my whole backside feels glowing and tender, until I’m breathless and trembling, aching and utterly undone.
Then he stops. Kane pulls my briefs and jeans back up with surprising gentleness. His big hand rests on my lower back for a moment, steadying me as I straighten on shaky legs.
Kane turns me to face him. His expression is calm, but his eyes burn.
“If you’re interested in seeing me again,” Kane says, voice low and commanding, “come back to this library tomorrow night. Same time. Not one second late.” He leans in, brushing a stray hair from my face.
“Or the spanking you get next time will be much, much harder and it will take more than a book to muffle your cries.”
With that, Kane presses a single, almost tender kiss to my forehead, then steps back.
And then, he’s gone… melting into the shadows between the shelves like he was never there.
I stand there for a long minute, bottom blazing, heart racing, brain short-circuiting.
My hand drifts back to rub the soreness, and a tiny, traitorous moan slips out.
I cum in my pants, right there on the spot.
I feel ashamed, exhilarated, and everything in between.
But more than anything, I’m alive in a way I haven’t felt in years.
Slowly, I pick up my book and backpack.
Twist peeks out, looking none the wiser. My trusty friend is always there for me, and right now I need him close.
I walk very carefully back to my nook by the radiator. I’ll wait a moment and then go to the bathroom to clean myself up. I don’t want to move now in case it looks obvious or weird to anyone who might have been lurking.
As I sit, the warmth feels different now against my tender skin. I sit gingerly, wince, and open the book again, but the words blur.
All I can think about is tomorrow night.
And whether I’ll be on time…